Between Two and Four
By Kay
Disclaimer: I don't own Kyou Kara Maou. This is only a matter of time and money… once I sell my soul enough times, I'm sure I'll get enough quarters to buy it off everyone else.
Author's Note: First posted KKM fic! And it's fairly short, fairly pointless, and fairly bad. But that's okay. Pairing is Yuuri/Wolfram (or at least the implication of it) and there are no spoilers that I can tell.
Yuuri sometimes wakes up between two and four in the morning, tucked against the left side of his bed.
Left, because no matter how often he sprawls in the center, he inevitably ends up on this side, curled up with half a bed empty beside him instead of another body dipping into the mattress. And he doesn't think about how the left edge is his now, that they have their own sides, because that's just stupid.
It takes a minute to recognize the silhouette of his alarm clock and lamp on the bedside table, and even longer for his mind to process the sharp, clean scent of cotton pillows that are more familiar but not quite as soft as those in Mazoku. He stares at the ceiling until he can remember its familiar white planes and the little crack near the corner of the room that his father still hasn't had fixed.
He thinks about how quiet it seems.
Sometimes he wakes up and panics because of the silence, because he's used to knowing where everything is-- when he was little, Yuuri had a teddy bear named Pochi-chan that stayed tucked against his ribs always, and when he woke up without it he would cry until it was replaced-- and this silence is all wrong to him, he needs to hear the deep, rhythmic spell beside him. Wolfram's breath warm when it hits his shoulder because he's moved too close again, and Yuuri will pull away sluggishly and close his eyes and sleep again.
It takes a while longer before he knows he's not in Mazoku, and he can sleep and wake up to the sweet scent of pancakes in the morning, see his mother's smile. That feels good. Out of all things, even if he doesn't always want to admit it, he misses his mother's smile.
Thinking of that, Yuuri's eyes drift shut again. He will tell himself that he should get some sleep or he'll miss the baseball game tomorrow, and he's wanted to see it for a while now.
His fingers twitch and waver over the right side of the bed, like they are expecting to meet resistance, and when they don't Yuuri pulls back sharply. He thinks his bed feels much bigger here than in Mazoku, even if the one in the demon castle is twice the size. He rolls over again and tries not to think of how cold it is, how the shape of his bed even feels wrong without two indents, and will not remember these thoughts in the morning.
Between two and four in the morning, Yuuri will eventually fall asleep again.
Eventually.
End
